


Walk in the Woods

by kaesaria



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dark, Escapism, Established Relationship, Hunting, Hurt!Daryl, M/M, Restraints, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016, Rickyl Writers' Group March 2016 Challenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaesaria/pseuds/kaesaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries to hold on to that warmth in this dingy room with concrete walls and no windows, no way out.  The only light comes from one florescent bulb above, an unnerving thing that buzzes and flickers and throws an intermittent blue-green cast over the space, harsh and stark, like something from a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the RWG’s March 2016 writing challenge: first paragraph is 100 words, second is 90, third is 80, and so on all the way to the last 10-word paragraph.

In his mind’s eye, the woods are lush and green and still around him.  Daryl concentrates; he smells the fresh scent of outdoor air; he hears the soft rustling of the sheltering leaves above.  He sees Rick stomping ahead of him, loud and impatient and scaring away all the catch, uncaring.  Daryl opens his mouth to tell him to be quiet, but Rick cuts him off; turns and throws out a slow grin that lights up the forest and sparks a warmth in Daryl’s chest that melts the whole world away.  In his mind’s eye, Daryl is there, anywhere, with Rick.

_He tries to hold on to that warmth in this dingy room with concrete walls and no windows, no way out.  The only light comes from one florescent bulb above, an unnerving thing that buzzes and flickers and throws an intermittent blue-green cast over the space, harsh and stark, like something from a nightmare.  Daryl’s wrists are raw from straining against the handcuffs that pull his arms behind the chair.  There’s just enough give for metal to cut into skin each time his body jolts from a punch or kick._

_“Just tell me,” the Governor is saying, “tell me, and this will end—,” but Daryl has stopped listening, he can’t hear anything past the buzzing in his ears, the pounding, the throbbing in his head and his ribs and everywhere, everywhere.  The Governor moves back, out of sight, and Daryl tries to relax into the hurt, to push past the dread.  It doesn’t matter.  He can’t see what’s happening behind him or anywhere else in this miserable room, because—_

In his mind’s eye, they’re walking through the underbrush, quiet and comfortable.  There’s a game trail ahead, as worn and familiar to Daryl as anything else he knows.  Like the back of his hand.  Like the calluses on Rick’s hands.  He reaches out, absently, to brush a stray leaf off of Rick’s shoulder.  Rick catches his wrist, lighting-quick.  He turns, pulls Daryl close.  His smile is soft against Daryl’s skin.

“Show me,” Rick says; his hand slides down to the crossbow.  Daryl follows his gaze—there’s a buck standing in the clearing ahead, silent and dappled in sunlight.  Everything’s still for a moment; then Daryl nods.  He turns Rick around, helps him aim.  They sight down the arrow together, eyes gliding down the length of it, solid and straight and _—_

_Sharp, a new pain that jabs in his side, just under his ribs, then a deep, blossoming ache that follows in its wake; it lasts and lasts.  Daryl can hear his breaths now— they’re pulled from him in harsh, ragged gasps.  He can’t be here much longer.  He can’t be—_

In his mind’s eye, Daryl stands close behind Rick; their bodies align and touch at all the right points: chest, hip, flank.  Daryl smooths a hand down the solid line of Rick’s arm and steadies the muscles under his palm.

His hand slides past Rick’s wrist, touches the fingers curled over the trigger.  He tilts his head to Rick’s neck, taking in the scent: musky, male.  “Release, now,” Daryl whispers.

_His exhale is a moan.  Daryl’s chest spasms, refuses to draw in air.  There’s a glint—a knife, somewhere close._

In his mind’s eye, the arrow pierces flesh.  Daryl breathes.

~

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Bill Bryson’s book, _A Walk In The Woods_. 
> 
> This scene is part of a much longer Rick/Daryl fic I’m working on; though I’ll probably end up re-working it a little in that version. I’m using this to fill the “Vacation” box on my Rickyl bingo card. Because Daryl is going on a vacation-y hunting trip with Rick. In his mind. Shut up, it counts.
> 
> All feedback is hugely appreciated. You can also discuss this story (or anything else) with me on [Tumblr](http://kaesaria.tumblr.com/). **(ETA: And now also on Imzy.[Come play with me!](https://www.imzy.com/kaesaria))**


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